


Things You Didn't Let Me Say

by Cobrilee



Series: Not Another Sterek Story [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, SWSWeek2017, Second Chances, discussions of epilepsy and seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobrilee/pseuds/Cobrilee
Summary: Just because you miss your chance doesn’t mean you’ll never get another one. Ships passing in the night, missed connections, yada yada. The only thing that matters to Stiles and Erica is that they finally got it right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first entry for Shipping With Stiles Week! Come check us out on [Tumblr](https://shippingwithstiles.tumblr.com/).

He knows she isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s her werewolf-y nature. That’s what he tells himself to try to calm his libido, but it doesn’t work.

This is torture.

“Jesus, Stilinski, you reek,” Jackson mutters in disgust, and Isaac glances over, nodding in woeful agreement. “The worst thing about being a werewolf is smelling your nasty-ass hormones.”

“You could always leave,” Stiles grumbles back, trying to rein in both his hormones and his agitation. “You’re only pack by biology, anyway. Your presence is neither required nor requested.”

Jackson makes a face and flips him off, and Stiles is satisfied.

Erica pats his thigh in commiseration, still curled into his side, and tucks her head under his chin. Stiles bites back a resigned sigh as she cuddles into him a little harder, her right breast squishing into his chest, and decides that Death by Erica isn’t such a bad way to go. At least it’s not likely to involve blood, agony, or his internal organs becoming external organs against his wishes.

—–

The thing is, Erica really isn’t all that affectionate, normally. She drapes herself over Isaac, gets up in Derek’s personal space to irritate him, shoulder-bumps Boyd, and mostly just ignores Jackson. She doesn’t cuddle, she doesn’t snuggle. Stiles kind of thinks she’s picked him for her affection because she _can_ , now.

He’s still astounded by the fact that she used to have a crush on him. _Him_. Nerdy, dorky Stiles Stilinski with the buzz cut and the too-long, gangly limbs that he couldn’t control, and the mouth that said things he really, really hated it for, pretty much on a regular basis. For whatever reason, though, she did, or at least she said she did.

So he thinks, _what if I suddenly got super hot and Lydia finally started taking notice of me? Would I take advantage of being super hot and get all up-close and personal with her?_ He likes to think he wouldn’t, but he knows he would. He absolutely would. (Assuming that she was okay with it, of course. Enthusiastic consent and all that.) It makes sense that Erica would get very hands-on with the guy she thought she couldn’t have before, now that she knows she’s smoking and can have any guy (or girl) she wants.

He knows he himself is very enthusiastically consenting when Erica leans into him, giving him a chestful of side-boob, her warm thigh curled over his. Not so much with the words, because if he opened his mouth he would humiliate himself more than normal, but he can guarantee his scent is doing the talking for him. And his dick. His dick can say a lot with one giant boner. (Maybe not so much giant, although he’d like to think so.)

“You’re awfully snuggly today, Er-Bear,” he finds himself saying, his voice, like, a half-octave above where it normally is.

“First off, Stilinski, it’s bad enough that my name is so close to Derek’s,” Erica begins, poking him in the side with one vicious, blood-red nail. “You don’t have to give me a nearly identical nickname.”

“Please, like I’d _ever_ call Derek ‘Der-Bear’ to his face,” Stiles scoffs, flinching away from the might-as-well-be-a-claw nail that’s digging into his tender skin. “Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don’t _actually_ have a death wish.”

Erica ignores him. “Secondly, I’m not any more snuggly than normal.”

“I beg to differ. You’re practically in my lap.” There, now his voice is a full octave above normal. Progress.

Erica gives him a mischievous, predatory grin-her specialty-as she wiggles enough to sling her other leg over his. His dick jumps a little when her thigh moves to within a half-inch of it, but the position means her upper half moves away slightly and he mourns the loss of the side-boob. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Stiles swallows, with difficulty. “The day I complain about having a beautiful woman half in my lap is the day I have to renounce being bi. Because only the gayest of the gay men could resist you.”

She throws her head back a little, a throaty chuckle erupting. “You’re a flatterer, Stiles. I like that about you.”

“I like everything about you,” he says without thinking, and the grin is gone as she stares at him, gaze sharp and assessing. “I mean, um, you’re very pretty.”

“I know. That’s hardly ‘everything’,” she counters, eyes narrowed. “You really mean it, Stiles?” Her voice is challenging. “You really like _everything_ about me? You like that I grow fur and claws and my eyes turn gold? You like that I could eviscerate you with a fingernail? You like that I’m sassy and bitchy, that I can smell how turned on you get around half the pack, that I’m finally fucking hot instead of that loser who had seizures until she pissed herself?”

Her voice rises over the last part, and her agitation is obvious. Stiles isn’t sure where they lost the thread of playfulness, but he also knows this is a side to Erica that nobody ever gets to see. Vulnerability was supposed to be left behind with the epilepsy, and she’s clearly unhappy with the words that have left her mouth, obviously without permission.

“Yes,” he replies simply, and she pauses in the act of separating their bodies. She stares at him doubtfully, so he continues. “I like it all, Erica. You know what I also like? I like that you’re a good person. I like that becoming a wolf gave you confidence in yourself. I like that you’re more open and less reserved, because I don’t think that was what you wanted to be, before.”

“You didn’t know me before,” she snaps, but her eyes are wary instead of angry.

Stiles shrugs, taking the opportunity to gently drop his arm around her shoulders. Erica tenses but doesn’t pull away, so he tugs a little until she leans in again, curling against his chest. “You told me you used to have a crush on me. You never gave me the opportunity to tell you that I noticed you, too.”

Erica starts to push away from him, but he holds fast, so she talks into his chest. “You’re lying,” she argues. “You were so wrapped up in Lydia that you wouldn’t have noticed someone standing on your toes and waving in your face. Besides, I was the lowest of the low on the popularity totem pole.”

“Which means we were right next to each other,” Stiles counters easily. “And you know I’m not lying, your ear is like an inch away from my heart.” Her shoulders shake and she muffles a giggle into his shirt. He grins. “I may have been obsessed with Lydia, but that doesn’t mean I was completely unaware of anyone else. I always knew who you were, Erica. Yeah, it was because you were the girl who had seizures, but that just made me want to know you more.”

“You’ve never been shy,” she points out, pulling away again. This time he lets her (“lets her”, _ha_ ), so they can talk face-to-face. “If you wanted to know me, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I tried, remember? After that horrible video was posted.”

Burying her face in his shoulder, Erica groans, “God, Stiles, don’t remind me. That was the worst moment of my entire life.”

Stiles prods her gently, waiting until she lifts her head again to continue, “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was that it happened, and that I wanted to kick that guy’s ass for you. But the second I opened my mouth, you got up and walked away.”

Her eyes widen. “I didn’t know. All I could think was this guy I had a huge crush on was going to make fun of me or say something shitty, just like everyone else had. I couldn’t handle it."

A rueful grin quirks his mouth. “Since I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, and I couldn’t kick the guy’s ass, I did the next best thing. I broke his damn phone.”

Something flits through her eyes, and he waits as a number of emotions cross her face. “Stiles, I… You did that? For me?”

Color creeps into his cheeks. He’s never had a problem being the white knight, but he tends to be the white knight in the shadows, with his fair maiden (or sir, depending) never really knowing what he’s done for her. He’s always been okay with that, which makes it awkward now to share how he’d defended her, in his own way. “I was so angry. You know I know what it’s like to be an outcast, to not have friends, but at least everything that made me unpopular was my own fault. I had ADHD, yeah, but I played into being weird and spastic and twitchy. I owned it. You didn’t have that, and I was pissed that something you had no control over was being used against you.”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, and Stiles is grateful that it’s an uncertain move rather than a seductive one, or he’d be having a hard time controlling his dick. “I didn’t know you even knew who I was.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, not entirely sure if he’s comfortable being so baldly honest, but figuring now is the time to go all in if he’s going to. “If I would have thought you’d say yes, I would have asked you out freshman year. Crush on Lydia notwithstanding.”

She scoffs. “I looked horrible freshman year. I looked horrible every year.”

“Erica, you don’t have to be a blonde bombshell goddess to be attractive. You were always pretty, just in an understated way.” He drops his hand, skimming his fingertips over her upper arm, and she shivers at the feather-light touch. “Just because you didn’t wear eight layers of makeup and the latest fashions like Lydia and her friends, didn’t mean you looked horrible.”

Her eyes are downcast, and he’s not sure if his words have upset or pleased her. Finally, after several moments have passed, she lifts her gaze. “You said you would have asked me out freshman year. What would you say if I asked you out now? Werewolf flaws, sass and all?”

His heartbeat rabbits and he knows she can hear it, but he pretends to consider her question. He lets it go on so long that she laughs and punches his arm. “You’re an asshole.”

“But you still like me,” he teases, grinning, and she rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

He tightens his arm and she scoots closer, one leg sliding back into place over his thighs, and she lifts herself into his lap. His dick immediately says hi and the smirk that spreads her cherry lips can be described as nothing less than devilish. “My answer is yes, by the way. All the yeses.”

The smile that blooms across her whole face is one that he’s never seen before. His heart lurches and his hands slip down to her waist, sliding around her back and tightening, pulling her in. “This is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked. Not because your hair is like satin and perfectly curled, not because your makeup is flawless and I can see cleavage so deep that I could quite literally get lost in it. But because I’ve never seen you this happy.”

When she blushes and ducks her head, trying to hold back laughter at the same time, Stiles dips in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. The gesture has her going still, then she lifts her chin and her eyes narrow wickedly. “There better be more where that came from.”

There is. There definitely is.

—–

When Derek comes home later, he growls at finding Erica and Stiles making out on his couch. “Could you please not stink up my loft with your teenage hormones?” he grumbles.

Erica stops kissing Stiles long enough to wink and purr, “You’re just jealous I got to him first, Der-Bear.”

Stiles chokes on his laughter and she grins, settling a little more comfortably in his lap before going in for more. Stiles’ lips are raw, he’s pretty sure his mouth will permanently taste like lipstick, and his dick is hard enough to rival Wolverine’s claws. He’s never felt so good in his life.


End file.
